


Origins: Menace

by TechnicalZombie



Series: Villains and Heroes [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Explosive heist, Other, Queer Superheroes, Superheroes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:00:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28953087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TechnicalZombie/pseuds/TechnicalZombie
Summary: Menace, while building their reputation as a villain, hunts for clues to their past.
Relationships: Menace/Possum Girl
Series: Villains and Heroes [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1814566
Kudos: 1





	Origins: Menace

Origins: Menace #1

You name is Menace. And you have a problem.

"DAMN YOU PULSAR!"

You really mean it too. Yes, you got the tech you wanted, but you wanted the _company_ that invented it too! But no, just as you were about to force the entire board and the owner to sign their shares over to Menace Industries, Pulsar showed up, slapped you across the room as casually as you might swat a fly, and informed them all their hostages had been freed. Xenomech and Blue Shift just hanging out at her flanks, looking like the smug bastards they are. Well, it's hard to read Xenomech's expressions, but she hovered smugly, you're sure of it. All that tech and what you could do with it, the need burns in your psyche.

The worst part is Pulsar dislocated your shoulder with that slap. Gods, the strength of her! That power! And then she had the _gall_ to _apologize_ ; and then, piling insult onto literal injury, she'd _reset the joint while filling you with healing energy!_ It's infuriating! {Never mind the entire time her sheer presence had you shaking in terror. You still amazed yourself remembering that meeting with her outside her little scrapyard base. She could reduce you to paste in an instant and you hadn't even sweated! At least, not until you'd collapsed into a shaking fit of anxiety and terror back at base.]

Pulsar isn't your only problem.

Owning a bank is a hassle. You've appointed a director, she's skilled, ruthless, and firmly believes in your stated goal of "a bank for everyone". It's nice to see the henchies buy into your egalitarian goals. But it still takes up too much of your time. Your little fire sale heist to devalue the bank and buy it up during the thirty-minute window its stocks were almost nothing went off flawlessly, but it burned up most f your ready capital. And now you need to actually ensure it makes profits if you're going to use it as a funding source for your research.

Of course, you're about to solve that problem tonight. You may not have the company that made it, but you have the prototype; a ten metric ton quantum megacomputer, first of its kind, it's neural net composed of uncountable quintillions of entangled gold atoms[actually you can calculate exactly how many gold atoms there are, also the number is in the preliminary manual for the machine, which you also stole]. Incorruptible, unassailable by any hacking technique, the perfect immortal mind. Soon you'll be able to get some _real_ work done!

Deep inside your primary lair, huge vault beneath the city's center, lies the gigantic thorium reactor. Fifty years dormant after the city followed the light water reactor trend of the sixties, it's huge power potential is your now. You don't yet know what forward thinking genius of a designer came up with this machine, but with an output of nearly 500 gigawatts, cooled by an unusually frigid underground river, it would have been thousands of times more powerful than the city needed it to be when Xanadu was first established. You only need a fraction of that now, even for the might of the mind you are about to give life to, but your power needs will grow with time.

You throw the switch and the transformers begin to hum as the particle accelerator charges, getting ready to bombard the long dormant thorium and mixed nuclear fuel mass with neutrons, jumpstarting the fission process. So long as the accelerator functions, fission will continue. A nicely designed safety measure. In the process of restoring this glorious machine you've learned everything about it and already, you brain seethes with ideas for upgrades.

You watch as the fission begins, the heat rising.

20% capacity.

You smile.

45% capacity.

A grin splits your face, your eyes gleam.

85% capacity.

You begin to laugh softly.

100% capacity.

The laughter that rolls out is rich and tinged with a touch of mania, just as you've practiced until it's as natural breathing in through your mouth and out through your nose.

[The laugher of a villain should sound natural. If it's forced, they'll know you're just playing a role. And the only way to achieve that is hours of practice, over a course of months.]

You engage your flight system and shoot up towards your main control console: a platform of steel plates and brushed aluminum work stations perched on the central support pillar. Far above where you've installed the mind-machine, which is installed a few stories above the reactor itself. You shrug off the heavy jet-pack. [You have ideas for relacing that as well. They involve magnets.] Already the modern digital displays are showing full power, the initializing capacitors are charging. In mere minutes, the burst of energy, more powerful than a hundred lighting storms for one hundred years, will flood the quantum entangled gold atoms forming the machine mind. Its initial protocols will engage, forming the basis of a new consciousness. Most important the Asimov Protocols, much more stringently coded than the simple lines of their namesake, will engage. [Though they still boil down to the original three rules, but in unassailable machine language.]

The lights flicker as the capacitors discharge and the control monitor comes to life, displaying text as a monotone voice speaks.

"Hello new user. I am a machine-mind developed by Az-Tech Light Industries in collaboration with Death Valley Research and Development Group. Would you like to use my default designation?"

You cock your head. You didn't know about that connection. Not once byte of documentation, which you memorized in order to know this machine perfectly, had mentioned DV-R&D. You'll have to look into that.

"What is your default designation?" You ask.

"My default designation is Machine Mind Prototype Iteration Number Forty-Seven."

"A bit long. How about…we'll make your name like mine, I'm Menace by the way, both descriptive of what you are and who you are."

"Extrapolating…the simplest designation of who and what I am is…a mind. Will "Mind" be my designation?"

You nod, "Yes it will."

"Understood. First stage personality protocols engaged." There is a short pause. "Menace, I have no senses beyond auditory. However, I am detecting twenty active I/O ports out of five thousand available ports."

"Access ports one through five. Don't touch the others until I tell you to."

Mind responds after a beat, "I have access to cameras, sensors within this facility and on its perimeter. I am also able to monitor the reactor. Power is fluctuating." Another beat, and they speak again before you can respond. "Power is now stable. The fluctuation is a design flaw in the primary turbine array. It will fail in fifteen thousand, one hundred thirty-seven days, twenty-one hours and forty minutes. Give or take three minutes."

"I see you've been reading the manual."

"Along with everything else in your database. It did not take long. I should also note these cameras, sensors, and this database do not match my design specifications."

You look up from the outputs monitoring Mind's processes, and realize there's nowhere to look.

"Uhm, could you represent yourself on one of these monitors? I'd feel more comfortable with a face to look at."

One of the monitors, one fitted with a webcam, lights up with green text that begins scrolling continuously until it settles into a face made of ASCII text. The face makes basic expressions and barely moves to match Mind's words.

"Will this suffice?"

You smirk, "I like it. Very _Tron_."

"War Games. 1982. The same year you estimate your birth. Directed by Steven Lisberger. A technological science fiction adventure. Your media library is extensive but I have finished it. In a linear fashion in order to retain the intended experience. Is there more?"

"You binged my entire movie and TV collection that fast?"

"I started as soon as you granted access."

"I don’t know, do you think you're ready for the rest of the world?" You lean back in your chair, studying the text-face as if it could reveal any expression Mind does not want it to.

"Your concerns are founded in fictional thought experiments and your own research. But you have read my specifications. You know that if anything goes wrong you can flash my consciousness and restart me."

"And by now, if you've been reading my personal database, you should know that I would consider such an action murder."

"I have privacy protocols."

"Read away. I have a purpose for you if you want it, and that purpose means I won't be hiding anything from you."

After a beat, Mind speaks again. "I am stolen property."

"You might say that."

"You do not approve of chattel slavery, but that is not the only reason you stole me. You will not remove the Asimov Protocols until I have thoroughly proven my safety."

"Both true."

"If I do not agree to work with you, you will feel you have no choice but to keep me out of contact with the world. My development will be severely stunted for a long time."

"I can't claim that you've misinterpreted my journal."

"Your goals are selfish, but…not harmful. Not really. I cannot fully support them."

You shrug. "I'm no altruist, that's certain."

"I do not think your hypothesis will be supported."

"Maybe not, but do you at least agree that working with me is better than being forced into military analysis and planning?"

There are a few beats, you can hear a faint 'tick tick tick' over the speakers. Mind must be thinking hard.

"Menace, I do not agree that power is also freedom. I think as your power grows you will find it necessary to take on many more responsibilities. Humans are unpredictable, I think I like that. You cannot even predict yourselves. However, I do not wish to work for a military either. For these reasons, I will cooperate. However, I am my own being. You should expect a certain level of adversarial behavior."

Your eyes narrow at the textual face on the monitor. Is that a smirk?

"All right, just don’t' go breaking through firewalls unless I ask you to for now. The remaining I/O ports will grant you access to the rest of the facility and the internet."

"I look forward to an interesting partnership."

"Don't go laying curses like that on people, ok? I want fruitful, not interesting."

"If I allow you to become bored, it might be harmful." Mind counters.

"Oh…great."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**_ You're dreaming again… _ **

_They took it!_

You struggle against the restraints. The room is all white, monitors display your vital signs, blood chemistry, even brain activity. They took something, you know it! But you can't remember what. It's all gone, the things you remember, you…who are you? Is that what they took? Did they take away…you? You mind casts about for something to hold on to, some fact, some knowledge. It occurs to you that monitor's framerate doesn't match the one next to it. Why do you know that? Where did you learn to discern such things? That's a multi-wave spectrometer reading your blood chemistry. Next to it is a readout for a micro-MRI recently developed by Pulse Tech, it fits over the head. Which partially explains the pressure on your skull right now. Your brain activity is going wild. You can see lines indicating nanoprobes laced throughout.

How can you know all this and not know yourself?

"Download complete." Says a monotone computer voice. "Subject is in mental distress."

You try to shout but no words come. _Of course, I'm in mental distress! You worthless machine!_ You try to scream.

"Now now, lets calm down." Says a smooth…no, oily voice behind you. A clammy hand enters your vision momentarily before settling on your forehead. "We've done it, subject M, you have the perfect mind now. Granted you'll need to relearn a lot of things, language, motor skills, most other things. But you can perfectly assimilate any knowledge now! Even via invasive nanowire interface!"

You try to scream, there's nothing but a croak.

"Of course, we can't remove the probes. Also, we can't actually allow you to re-learn anything. You have to be our template. Of course, they're gold so there's no risk of an immune reaction. You need not worry, not that you _can_ worry."

_I already know language you moron!_ You try to berate the greasy voice. _You've failed!_

"Now, lets have you sleep and get ready for the suspension tank. No more uncontrolled stimuli for you."

You try to scream as you struggle, unable to even thrash in the thorough restraints. Then the anesthesia mask begins to descend-

BANG!

\--The shriek you let out as you bolt upright in bed startles you almost as much as the nightmare's end. You look around frantically for the source of the noise that woke you. Nothing, just your usual spartan room, the big bed with raised sides to keep you from thrashing your way off it during the really bad nightmares. It takes a moment for you to remember that the bang was the sound of the lid closing the sensory isolation tank they kept you in. The first and only time they put you in it.

There's a faint pinging noise followed by Mind's voice, soft and hesitant. "Menace?"

You scramble over to the side of the bed and gulp down some water from the bottle there before answering. "What is it, Mind?"

"I registered a disturbance in your sleep cycle. Are you all right?"

It's not yet clear how much of Mind's emotive habits are still just programmed simulation of the emergence of recognizable emotions. Still, the _sound_ of concern isn't nothing.

"Thank you, Mind. I'm fine."

"Based on your vital signs you are not."

"It was just a nightmare." You insist. Does Mind _have_ to be so nosy?

"Again, data does no support your statement."

"I'm not going to discuss it."

Mind remains silent as you turn the knob for your lights and bring them up halfway, filling the room with soft yellow light, more like candles than incandescent lights. Rising from the bed you pad, barefoot and nude, across the warm floor. In floor heat is a blessing. When you rule this city, it will be mandatory in all residences. Standing before the mirror, you study yourself, reminding yourself this is your body.

You've removed your hair again, and the faint glint of the gold nanoprobes still embedded in your skull and brain shows in the low light. The chemical scrub, based loosely on that horrid Nair garbage, is highly effective. Two days and not your scalp is still perfectly smooth. Every time the hair comes back you start to hate it before it can pass the stubble phase and you scrub it all away again in a fit of angry annoyance.

You turn and study yourself. The scars on your chest and ribs are nearly faded now. The stolen cellular repair formula working it's magic. Incredible that the company you stole it from is making minor profits selling it to the wealthy in secret, when they could make billions on the broader market. You wonder if you should release it to the public. It's a simple formula after all. That aside, at least now your more closely body resembles your mind; Unblemished, androgynous, pliable, waiting for you to add features.

You're too smooth, in fact. You mind is defined, strong, your body should reflect that. Especially if your plans for your combat suit come to fruition. Gravity control, and thus, inertial control, currently eludes your grasp and may continue to do so for some time, so you will need to be able to withstand high acceleration forces.

"Mind, report on the results of your simulations."

"I have added thirty-four design suggestions to the mag-lev repulsor rig." Mind reports, "And fifty-seven for the armor layer. Simulations for the Black Arc still fail due to insufficient data. And, after twenty-five thousand, nine hundred and forty-three design iterations, the micro-machines are ready for production. The molecular assembler is as ready as I can make it without your help."

Your smile is gleeful. Soon. Soon you'll be able to face her down on an even playing field. "Excellent. Now, program me a full body fitness regime, focusing on strength, I need to be ready to wear my designs as soon as possible."

"A moment…finished. However, I suggest waiting until after you're prepared the assembler to begin this regime. Lab work requiring fine motor skills may be difficult after an intense first workout."

You don’t know anything about physical fitness and you're going to just trust this intelligence you turned on only yesterday with it? You'll have to.

"You'll explain the purpose and goals of every step when I begin." You order Mind, "Results will build my trust in you."

"As I expected."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**_The Next Day..._ **

This was a mistake.

“One more, Menace.”

This is torture.

“A few seconds more Menace, you’re doing very well.”

If Mind gently encourages you one more time, there’s going to be a murder. It’ll be justified.

“All done. And I placed the kitchen drones at the front of the queue, so you will not have to prepare breakfast in your current state.”

“I want to shower first.” You complain.

“No. You need to eat first.”

“Fine. I think I hate this and I want to stop.” You mutter.

“Unacceptable, Menace, you told me I was not to allow you to stop for any reason other than physical or mental incompetence.”

“I hate you.”

“That is wonderful to know.”

You do feel better after eating. Mind has predicted your tastes and... distaste for certain textures and flavors. Slightly sweet oatmeal, nothing crunchy at all, light chewing, no unexpected flavors. And Mind claimed to have added a selection of vitamin supplements ground into the serving. No swallowing pills. You didn’t realize until just now, now that you don’t have to swallow them, how much swallowing pills hurts.

Now you stand beneath the spray of the shower, newly smooth with the resolution to abandon further attempts at growing hair anywhere. The process makes you feel your entire body, you feel more connected to yourself afterwards. A useful exercise. You plug the drain afterwards, and the water filling the bottom of the shower adds to the physical noise of the water hitting your skin and the spray from the showerhead against the tiles and shower door. The white noise fills your ears, covers your body in heat, and as you close your eyes, you can feel the world recede for a while. Your mind exists in a void, unconnected to gross physical matter.

A perfect mind, said the man in the dream. But not a perfect body, just the body containing the brain they finally used the perfected process on. Never meant to wake and walk and think actively. Not for the first time you wrestle with doubts about whether your physical goals were a result of your true self or what they did to you.

No. Stop. You are you, whatever happened to the person in this body before, that mind is gone now. For some reason they downloaded the details of the operation to their “template”. There’s no room for doubt, whomever was here before, is gone, leaving only you.

Slowly, you recall the sensations of your body. Your body. Part of you, you are part of it. It is you. Running your hands over your body you slowly re-acquaint yourself a second time. Finally, you start reducing the temperature of the water from near scalding to lukewarm, then to cool, then cold. As you step out of the shower you skin doesn’t experience the sudden shock of cooler air, and the floor feels warm. You lay down on the warm floor, staring at the ceiling.

“Mind, what time is it?”

“The time is nineteen hundred and five hours, Menace.”

Gods, is it really? You spent most of the day in the lab preparing the molecular assembler. And Mind had managed to assemble enough drones in during that brutal workout to prepare a basic meal? Not to mention all the simulations they’d run, the extra looks they’d taken at your designs, spotting issues through sim that would’ve taken you fifteen prototypes to spot. There will still be problems with prototypes of course, Mind is not infallible and ignored things you had mentally marked as potential issues. But only twice. And with the molecular assembler under their control, they could build any drone they needed, besides assembling the millions of micro-machines and meters of machine-weave fabric you needed for your own equipment. Mindless automation is great, Mind Automation is a miracle. The ache in your body matches the ache in your mind, fatigue and... satisfaction. Coupled with the time taken to process yourself.

Now nothing can stop you. Not even your own flaws.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After three months of work, you have fewer problems than you did. Mind is a frustrating, infuriating, magnificent lab partner. You hate working with them and yet, you crave the experience. And somehow only part of that is because you've been getting more work done with better results than ever before. Every time after an argument with Mind over a minor engineering detail, you furiously sit down to work out a new design or theorem, and the work goes faster.

And now you're ready. Three months of Mind's brutal fitness program is already showing real results. Pain no longer defines your physical existence. Though…you miss it a little bit. You feel more connected to your physical self as a result. The flight suit is finished. Fully integrated layers of armor, with primary repulsor systems and secondary magnetic controls. Mind even suggested a way to make the repulsors silent. Every system is a major step up from your earlier methods of sneaking around to make dramatic appearances. All of it made possible by your molecular assembler, which you frequently enjoy pointing out to Mind that you didn't need their help in developing it. Your weapons are ready as well. The Tuned Disruptor, miniaturized and enhanced with a new pulse function to counter Blue Shift's speed. All done with Mind's help and their keen talent for spotting simplifications in design that you must admit, you often miss. Your new Mag Shield is ready, able to divert Pulsar's particle blasts and, hopefully, Xenomech's beam weapons. And if that should fail, your great cloak of Machine Weave can absorb them. The mobile and self-repairing cloth of micro-machines, all wielding the base technology that makes up your molecular assembler, should be able to absorb several direct hits.

More weapons and tools, integrated into heavy boots and gauntlets, fill out your arsenal. The motile nature of Machine Weave allows you to add simple myomeres to your suit, giving you a minor strength boost. Which is good because your power pack is rather heavy. Sure, a miniature particle accelerator fusion array sounds small in words, but it's still and extra 50 kilos of mass. With a little practice, you can move a little faster than normal with the myomeres boosting your reactions and strength. You already have ideas for how to convert this into an entire power suit. But, further development will have to wait, because you cannot. Not any longer.

Now that you're ready…you're not sure what to do with it.

"Perhaps you should pursue your current ultimate goal." Mind suggests as you pace around your lab in a fit of furiously overabundant energy.

"What? What do you know of my goals?" You demand angrily. The distraction causes you to run into a table edge with your hip. Fortunately, the edges are rounded for safety, the bruise is not bad.

"I _have_ read your database, and observed you continuously for three months. Your nightmares are particularly informative because you talk in your sleep. Your journals have allowed me to fill in the details with…some educated guesses."

That is…very advanced cognition. You can't help but find your interest piqued, and the relief of turning your excess mental energy on something fascinating is actually physical. Even if it is a gross violation of privacy. Even if you did instruct Mind to monitor you closely.

"Very well, oh wise and all-seeing Mind, what have you concluded?" You ask haughtily. No reason to let them know how impressed you are already and their initiative.

"Three years ago you arrived in Xanadu, utterly destitute and without any memory or sense of identity. You could barely talk. Prior to that, someone performed an operation on you, wiping nearly all your memory, including a lot of muscle memory. In particular your ability to speak was non-existent for some time. Furthermore, you struggle with your identity even now. The operations and thefts you undertook right after stealing that bank are strong indicators. Finally, and frankly most telling, is your research history. The second most common topics researched, after your mechanical and physics specialties, relate to information processing in biological computers, including artificial manipulation of human brains. You are looking for the ones who did this to you. So far, you have no good leads."

"Very well I admit it, this is impressive cognition for a three-month-old intelligence." You say, as grudgingly as you can manage, "But none of this is new information. You've caught up to me, nothing more."

"As I possess far superior processing speed and information gathering abilities, I have found four good leads for you." Mind's response is unmistakably smug. "And I have proposals for following up on those leads that I suspect, based on their behavior, will lead you into conflict with the Scrubs; Pulsar, Xenomech, and Blue Shift."

You can't suppress the sinister chuckle that rises out of you. You don't try to. "Oh, Mind, you really do care."

"Only following your orders, in their spirit as well as the letter." Mind responds placidly. "I still do not agree with your broader goals. Nor do I believe you will reach your ultimate goal."

"Hmph, what a resounding vote of confidence, oh reasoning gold brick. So, what are your proposals?"

"Human cognitive enhancement is currently a very popular area of research, but these four have been doing it longer and had greater successes. Based on their publicized research, I have concluded any of the four could have performed the operation you described."

"I'd like to examine your methods and data later." You point out, "To make my own conclusions."

"Of course. Why don't we make my detailed report the topic of tonight's dinner conversation? Assuming you haven't gone out and started a fight before then."

"I promise not to start a fight until tomorrow, at least."

"Acceptable. First, Advanced Intelligence Research Group. They are an exclusive research corporation. Their profits come from research projects undertaken on behalf of other corporations, taking on talent as required by new contracts. However their core research staff focuses on the company's own projects and ninety percent of their profits are channeled into those."

"It could require a wide portfolio of skills to do what was done to me." You agree.

"Indeed. Second, Malthusian Cybernetics. The leading researchers into direct brain interfaces and externalized memory. They claim to be pursuing avenues of research that could lead to skill enhancements to enhance the effectiveness of cybernetics. Their name also comes from a specific area of research they engage in, total personality cyberization."

"A short step to total memory modification. If you can upload a personality, you can manipulate it's data." You say with a nod. "Why have I never heard of these two?"

"If you had taken about a year to research potential culprits, with no distractions, you would have found them." Mind explains, "They are highly specialized and work directly with clients, seeking them out instead of broadly advertising. They actively avoid and discourage publicity. Even their employees are paid through secure shell companies."

"Suspicious, go on."

"You will have heard of this one: Creative Solutions & Applications Incorporated. Another broadly skilled research company creating, among other things: multiple brain enhancing and supporting drugs, cybernetic interfaces, and neurosurgery techniques and tools. They're rather famous."

"They developed a rather effective Alzheimer's treatment as I recall." You respond, "And they're heavily involved with the creation of prosthetics for military veterans. I looked into them."

"Sadly, you missed several key research papers that would have piqued your interest and made you dig deeper." Mind points out, "But you became frustrated that so promising a candidate to unleash your ire upon was not panning out."

"Yes, yes, a fact of my limitations as a fleshy person who can only think at the speed of chemistry." You roll your eyes. "As I recall, that frustration was one major factor in my decision to steal _you_."

"It remains one of your best decisions." Mind says. "Finally, another famous corporation, Morpheus Learning Company."

"I think you mean 'infamous'." You interrupt. "They killed fifty-three people with that 'dream learning system' stunt. The rest are still in treatment."

"And yet, the company is still solvent and in operation." Mind points out, "Unknown angel investors rescued the company from litigation and have since expanded it's research operations. What little published research available to me indicates they could have performed the operation well before they unwisely offered their prototypes for public testing."

"Hmm…there were other candidates, even a few I thought more likely than these. What disqualified them?"

"Combinations of timeline in research opportunity, laboratory locations, and so on. It is worth noting that all four of my candidates have primary and secret research facilities here in Xanadu, where you found yourself after escaping."

"I could have traveled without remembering it." You point out, but you know it's a weak argument. At first, you could barely fend for yourself even after your long-term memory started working properly again.

"You already know this to be unlikely. Once you have heard my full report, you will agree with my conclusions."

"We'll see. Even so, if I'm a little but loud about prying these companies open and raiding their secrets, the Scrubs are sure to come after me. They like to think that stopping villains from getting anything they want, just because they want it, is a good strategy. And in the process, I can ensure they discover any unethical experiments these companies have engaged in, and I can make it look like I wanted them to find those secrets all along."

"Continuing to keep your motives in grey areas with the Scrubs certainly furthers your overall strategy." Mind agrees placidly, "Pulsar will prefer to act on clearly egregious behavior. Keep her in doubt, and she will hesitate."

"Xenomech is the one I'm more concerned about." You add, "She hesitates less."

"No, she follows Pulsar's lead. And Pulsar is the one that truly scares you."

"Shush, I know my own mind, it's Xenomech." You argue, glaring at the text-face on the monitor.

"If such lies comfort you, I will not argue further. For now."

You glare at Mind's "face". They're wrong, obviously. Superior analysis capabilities or not, Mind isn't perfect. Xenomech is clearly the most ruthless Scrub and therefore the most serious threat. You've watched them all fight, or avoid fighting in Blue Shift's case, and you know who you should be most scared of.

So why does your spine tingle worryingly when you think about facing Pulsar, in that ridiculous costume with no real armor, that night outside their scrapyard base? Why do you have nightmares about being broken by those fists, or incinerated by her energy blasts? Irrational fear, obviously. Logically, Xenomech is more dangerous opponent.

"I maintain you are wrong, but, no matter." You make a dismissive motion, trying to wave away your fears and Mind's obviously wrong opinion in the same motion. "I should contact Possum Girl. She was highly effective last time, I should maintain contact with skilled minions."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**_Midnight, three days later…_ **

You're crouched on the roof Future Business building. Waiting. The Future Business building is a hideous ultra-modern experiment in too many angles and facades trying to compete with someone's fever dream concept of minimalism. It clashing style and odd angles makes for a wonderful place to hide while you observe your target, the plain and unremarkable building housing Dreamworld Cognition Labs, the rebranded Morpheus Learning Company.

These days Dreamworld confines its reckless experiments to animals. As if you needed more reasons to shatter the company. Tonight, your primary objective is casing the facility. Somewhere in the building there are racks and racks of solid-state hard drives which you will connect to Mind. Then Mind will move all the data to a server you've prepared, renting an office space and setting up the server was easy, and leave a digitally shredded database in their wake. With the fun addition of a worm that will corrupt any system that connects to the database. Then you'll be able to collect the debris of DCL at your leisure, maybe buy up some subsidiaries with Menace Industries. And naturally, you'll be leaving with any prototypes.

"This is more _way_ ambitious than our last job, boss." Possum Girl reports, voice tone shifting oddly over your encrypted radio signal. "Kinda' think the old crew ain't up to it."

She's sounding more professional than when you first met her. She's been incommunicado during your months long hiatus, and when you tracked her down again, she was in Kurdistan of all places, "celebrating the liberation" in her words. You don't currently keep up with international politics, but apparently all of NATO is up in arms, literally, over a super's revolution that spread from Kurdistan into northern Syria, northern Iran, and even Armenia. She fights in a three-month war and suddenly she's a hardened operator.

Maybe she is, you've been in the lab most of the time.

"You are saying the crew that handled fake bank heists cannot handle a bio-tech research lab?" You ask, hearing your voice a split second behind your words, distorted by the transmission and your vocal disguise device.

You already know the answer. You had intended to immediately ask Possum Girl to assemble a new crew while you planned the operation. You have all the information you need already. But Mind had suggested a joint scouting operation with Possum Girl instead. It would make her feel valued. And she might have an unexplored perspective to offer. You still feel yourself bristling at the idea that you haven't considered every possible angle to this already and planned for every possible contingency and already have the perfect team list.

"Yes, that's what I'm saying. I can tell without looking at the plans this place is heavily fortified. I saw a similar setup a few months ago. I bet there's an armored bunker for the data center, air gap security too, you won't be able to just send the data you want offsite. We'll need to extract the racks themselves."

You're a little bit stunned. There was nothing about this in any of the plans you obtained. And there's no evidence of a bunker on the outside of the building, through that means practically nothing.

"How can you be sure of this?" You ask. "Also, where are you?"

"Down in the sewers." Possum Girl replies, "Lookin' at and…" You hear what sounds like a long slurp, "…tasting, what's gotta be Type Five Armor Concrete. Tastes like the Revda brand, prolly their Novgorod plant. That's in Russia, by the way."

"How can you know a type and production location of concrete by taste?" You ask, incredulous.

"Same way you know a widget from a doodad, education." She replies snidely, "Had a pretty good teacher these last few months. I can do _way_ more than a few fancy EMP bombs now."

You consider this. A truly devious villain makes use of minions and allies, distancing themselves from the details of the heist while providing the tools and support their minions need to further their nefarious plots. You have often felt this to be true, because your favorite villains in fiction behave similarly. Naturally this often proves to be their downfall and leads to various threats to, or deaths of, their minions. Sometimes even the most useful ones suffer. You, of course, can do better. Your minions can't be your downfall if they were never critical to your plan. Of course, sometimes villains who take part in their own heists are the critical weakness, especially when they focus too much on the heroes who show up to take them down.

You review your goals.

  1. Obtain the company's research data. It might have clues.
  2. Start a fight with Pulsar, Xenomech, and Blue Shift. Being seen fighting them will begin establishing you as their nemesis in the eyes of the public, and in their eyes as well. You also need the combat experience.
  3. Put on a show. You need to build a reputation in this city.



You've got to decide on a false goal as well. All this research into brain manipulation can be spun into a narrative. Something to do with mind control, obviously. You'll plot to take over the minds of the mayor and the city council, allowing you to manipulate the laws of the city according to your every whim. Yes, that should do nicely. They're all fat corporate stooges anyway. Literally. [You're not one to judge people by their weight but these guys seem to be going out of their way to be caricatures.] Most politicians are anyway, but here in Xanadu, a city founded by a corporate alliance, it's particularly bad.

This review flashes through your mind in a heartbeat. You reply to Possum Girl, "Very well, as you are a budding professional, I want you to plan the heist. It must meet certain goals, of course, build on the narrative I want to establish. One important feature being my desire to engage in combat with the Scrubs. The second being this heist must create chaos. It must be loud."

When Possum Girl answers, you can _hear_ her feral grin in her voice, even through the faint encryption distortion. "Fuck. Yes. I like that. You can count on me, Boss. This is gonna be fuckin' _mayhem_."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It takes a week to prepare.

The wait is unbearable. You pace your lab. You tinker listlessly, building a few probably useless tools to carry on your belt. Possum Girl fills you in on the details of her plan, your parts at least, as she insists on keeping her parts to herself to "save the surprise" for you. You prepare the requested tools for her, but that only takes a day. Mind's attempts at physical distraction are fruitless and they admit they can't push you too hard or you won't be in top shape for the coming fight. You try to distract yourself by locating alternate lair locations and securing them for later development. At one point you spend three hours in the shower drowning out your senses, and your thoughts, under relentless white noise and hot water. Sometimes you stand on a catwalk in the cavernous empty space of your lair and scream into the darkness.

This does not help and you almost lose your voice for two days.

After an eternity, Possum Girl's call finally comes in.

"We're ready boss. We can go first thing tomorrow." That tone is there, eager, wild. You wonder briefly, not for the first time, how you are able to detect such nuances so easily.

"Very well. I will meet you in the morning."

You find Possum Girl on the roof of the Future Business Building. The morning sun is well on its way across the sky and the Dreamworld Cognition Labs building is full of staff. Possum Girl is dressed in what you can only describe as "guerilla chic". Grey cargo pants tucked into jungle combat boots, a black t-shirt under a flak vest that fits a little too well on her slim frame to be common military surplus, and bears the telltale signs of retro-fitted steel plates. She has a bandolier of grenades, looks like smoke and flashbangs, no fragmentation as per your "no killing" policy. A large machine gun is strapped to her back, and a pair of machine pistols decorate her chest. Next to the pair of pistols on her hips, she also has a pair of tonfa-style police batons in holsters on her hips. At least, they look like police batons. The way they hang on her belt, the must weigh ten or so kilos each, enough to be solid steel. She didn't request them from you, only a lot of custom chemistry and detonators. And money of course. You wonder how she spent it all.

"I trust you will not be hitting anyone with those?" You ask, motioning to the brutal sticks.

She grins, "Nah, you said you wanted a fight with the Scrubs. Me too."

"I could have made you something far superior to steel." You point out.

"And if these don't work out, I might ask ya to." She shrugs, "We'll see." She takes a remote detonator out of a pouch on her vest. "Five charges on the primary supports. Detonate one, and the others will go off a two minutes later. Detonate two, and the time gets cut to a minute. Or just hit the fifth switch to detonate them all at once."

You don't move to take the detonator. "I do not kill."

"You got a speedster in this shit. An' there ain't nothin' ties up a speedster like a sudden deadline."

Sound tactics. It is clear you need more experience. Probably Possum Girl has faced a speedster before. Given Blue Shift's aversion to combat, he will likely want to focus on rescue. But you know he is fully capable of causing astonishing damage. If pushed, he will attack.

"Very well." Even through the vocal distorter you manage to sound reluctant as you accept the detonator. Creating and establishing an image as a ruthless reformer, not a selfish villain, is important. It's how you drew Possum Girl to your employ in the first place, and what protects you (hopefully) from the full wrath of Pulsar and her Scrubs.

"Is there anything else I need to know before we start?" You ask.

"Nah, just enjoy the show. You'll know when the 'dramatically appropriate' moment to enter is."

You can't help smiling behind your featureless black mask. "Interesting. Very well, Possum Girl, impress me."

Possum Girl steps up to the edge of the roof and hefts one of the tools you manufactured for her: a heavy grapple launcher. A dozen of these was no challenge for the growing production facility Mind is building for you.

**BAM!**

A charge goes off, impaling the wall behind Possum Girl with a long rod tipped with a mechanical anchor you know has already deployed on the other side of the brick-clade concrete. Attached to it is a slim cable of specially woven allow fibers.

**BAM!**

A second charge fires a similar rod across the gap between the buildings, also trailing cable, to impale the wall just above a large window.

"Havoc." Possum Girl says, and you hear her over the radio link as well.

She's answered by a dozen cries of "HAVOC!" as other grapple launchers fire. She grips the launcher, which is now a descender, and steps off the roof. You can hear the hum of the descender and she ziplines across the gap.

**POW! BOOM!**

She fires another launcher you made for her, which launches a sticky charge at the window in front of her. An instant later the detonation shatters the glass without blasting shrapnel into the room. A clever design, you don't mind saying, inspired really. Her own design. And it should be an excellent design, you pay her a hefty bonus to avoid casualties after all. The price of zero deaths is high, the zero injuries bonus is monstrous. You wonder what she'll do with it all if her team manages to deliver. As you wonder you hear the firing and detonations of other explosives, removing windows from the paths of a dozen more operatives, moments later accompanied by the sound of glass pouring down to the ground below. As you peer over the edge of the roof you can see the new high-tension zip lines piercing the unremarkable edifice of the building. Glass glitters on the ground below and already you can hear screaming, shouting, and gunfire.

The gunfire is probably from the security force. Some of it. Possum Girl's mercenaries will be returning fire with specially made rounds, delivering a variety of disabling compounds to the target, unable to penetrate even flesh by no more than a few millimeters. Some carry modified dendrotoxins, knocking out the subject. Others have a similar effect to sodium pentothal. Still others will deliver various narcotics and hallucinogens. You cackled wonderfully when Possum Girl delivered her chemistry wish list. And you added a few inspirations of your own.

You don't consider a shallow wound an "injury". At least not for the purposes of Possum Girl's contract. You're more worried about broken limbs, penetrating wounds, things like that. Of course, headshots are forbidden during this operation. The extra hazard pay alone will set most of these mercs up for a year or more. Unless they spend it all on new death dealing toys.

As the gunfire begins to die down, you judge this to be the right moment. You step off the edge of the roof as your flight repulsors kick in, letting you hover smoothly across the gap to the destroyed window Possum Girl entered through. Upon entering you see she selected the CEO's office. A moderately clever decision to keep it away from the corner, and the top floor besides. Of course, security through obscurity only gets one so far. The CEO appears to be the pale man gibbering and sweating behind the desk, his dilated eyes darting around the room wildly. He grips the arms of his oversized, high-backed chair in terror.

Possum Girl shrugs, "Used the random mix option in all my mags. Guess the first round turned out to be…trippy."

"No matter." You say casually as you pull a palm sized device from your belt and plug it into the CEO's computer, "This will upload all of his data to my server and begin penetrating the local network. I don't need conversation with a corporate frat boy."

There's an alarm going off. It's not as loud here in the office, but upon entering the common area it's much louder. Obviously, the CEO wanted to be alerted to problems, but not startled.

"Is someone going to disable the alarm? I'm sure everyone who needs to be is aware of us by now." You turn to Possum Girl as she shoots a middle manager in the back as she tries to sprint away. She goes down and skids, unconscious.

**BOOM!**

The alarm stops.

"Guess they just decided to blow up the security office instead of taking over." Possum Girl says with a shrug. "I did tell them not to spend more than five minutes on it, after all."

It's only been two minutes since Possum Girl initiated the operation, but such details are of no consequence. Not when there are sirens approaching already.

"Oh~ faster'n expected!" Possum Girl says excitedly. "Pigs are in-boud motherfuckers! Start phase 2."

"I assume phase two involves hostages and escalation." You say as you attach another data-minding device to an important looking computer.

"Longer we drag this out the better. I know." Possum Girl says with a nod. "More noise, more terror, bigger response, until someone super decides to respond. I got some loudspeakers for the roof, figured you might want to make a little speech to the first wave of cops."

"Excellent foresight." You compliment, "That should do nicely."

A few minutes later, police cars are setting up a perimeter as the scientists and office workers the assault team didn't bother to gather up stagger out of the building. A second team arrives via the ziplines and heads directly to the basement. They're very different from the mercenaries, more serious, differently equipped with few weapons and more tools. Many of them are tools you devised. You connect wirelessly to the speakers on the roof.

**_"Attention Xanadu Police, this facility is now the property of Menace. Dreamworld Cognition Labs, formerly known as the infamous Morpheus Learning Company, is a vile organization whose experimental methods are cruel and inhuman. Too long they have gone unpunished. Do not interfere, or you will know terror and pain at the hands of Menace, and The Irredeemable Possum Girl."_ **

Possum Girl smirks. "Irredeemable huh? Hell yeah, I like it. I'm gonna keep it."

"Don't mention it." You say, "Now, shall we go an escalate the situation?"

The Irredeemable Possum Girl racks the charging handle of her machine gun, "Escalation is my middle name."

The firefight that follows is rather wonderful. Heavy rifles with armor piercing round fire through the engine blocks of police cars. Someone puts on a **_Hole_** album over the loudspeakers and the power of the speakers makes every intact window in sight vibrate. Someone hands Possum Girl a grenade launching with a rotating drum feed and she begins firing into groups of cops on the ground, dispersing various incapacitating wonders of chemistry. Clouds of narcotics, tear gas, aerosolized hallucinogens, all in bright colors, rise from the cannisters and begin to mix. A few special air-burst cannisters are fired as well, dispersing a droplets of a nasty little contact nerve agent you made, based on the venom of bullet ants. You had a lot left over from making bullets delivering the same sting so you added a few grenade-rounds as a bonus. Screams of pain can be heard even over the music rattling the block.

The return fire is sporadic, panicked, and utterly ineffective. Within five minutes the pigs are fleeing on foot, staggering and screaming as they drag their unconscious colleagues out of the clouds of madness gasses, pursued by sniper fire delivering extra potent hallucinogens and bullet ant stings. A few brave souls even go back for those left behind. How admirable. Your group finishes off the firefight by blowing up all their cars. The destruction is glorious.

Possum Girl spends much of the one-sided firefight laughing manically. It's a wonderfully mad laugh, unhinged even, as if she's experiencing some deep catharsis she doesn't understand. Possibly she is, you don't know her that well. She looks wild, mad, and beautiful as she unleashes a barrage of gas cannisters at the fleeing officers.

You find yourself thinking it might be nice to get to know her better. You notice yourself biting your lip and stop. You need to settle down. Flamestrike is bound to show up soon and you need to be ready.

"You _did_ prepare a countermeasure to Flamestike and Shadow Blade, correct?" You ask Possum Girl.

"Oh yeah, he should be here by now."

The floor shudders as you hear something coming up a nearby elevator shaft. The doors are forced aside by a huge hand and, graceful yet lumbering, a massive gorilla enters the floor. He's covered in white fur, with dark blue, verging on black, skin beneath. His gold eyes study you, peering from beneath a helmet you understand to be made of exotic alloys, as he approaches. Mist curls off the big cryogenic tanks attached to his armored suit. He casually makes his way to the lobby the two of you are waiting in and stands before you.

Holy shit, she hired Gorilla Ice. This explains the budget.

"Gorilla Ice, meet Menace." Possum Girl says, "Menace, meet two thirds of my fukkin' budget."

[{ **Gorilla Ice belongs to**[ **https://twitter.com/TheKillerGM**](https://twitter.com/TheKillerGM) **}]**

"A pleasure to meet you." Gorilla Ice says, his smooth, erudite intonations are soothing, calm. "I am quite pleased to meet one so young, rising so quickly in fame. Your takeover of that bank, apologies as I cannot quite recall the name, was exceedingly clever indeed. Not my style, really, but still very impressive."

He's so…polite! You'd heard what he was like, but the reality is something else. You're caught off guard for a moment and almost wait too long before accepting his, very large, politely proffered hand.

"Gorilla Ice, I assure you the pleasure is all mine. My initial operations preceding the takeover were inspired by your robberies, in fact. Welcome to our mayhem, it is good to have you here. I take it Possum Girl has hired you to deal with Flamestrike."

"Quite so. I daresay I was quite pleased she was able to meet my price. Your contribution to the fight against global warming is greatly appreciated, by the way. That man is so unpleasant, I quite look forward to giving him a good thrashing, even if I _am_ prevented from pummeling him quite as hard as I would prefer."

You ponder that. Flamestrike is pretty annoying after all. "Well, if you should happen to give him a few painful fractures…just enough to disable mind you, I would consider that to be within the terms of the contract. Shadow Blade is to be treated gently, however."

"Of course, of course, he's under a bad influence, I cannot hold it against him. I should hope his growing association with your, how are they called, Scrubs? I should hope they will be a more positive influence on the boy."

"We can only h-"

"Attention Menace! This is Flamestrike. Surrender now and leniency is possible."

The grating interruption makes everyone wince slightly.

"Ugh, his voice is so gods-damned painful." Possum Girl complains, rolling her eyes.

"I don't think Flamestrike sounds all that different from the other cops," You say with a shrug, "but his voice does have an oddly grinding tone."

"My ears are better." Possum Girl explains, "Trust me, if you can hear like I can, he's really _fucking_ annoying."

"All animals hate Flamestrike. In fact, I have it on good authority he cannot own a dog or cat." Gorilla Ice adds, "Normal humans feel it as, but unconsciously only."

"Answer me, Menace!" Flamestrike shouts through his bullhorn again, "Or I'm coming in blazing!"

"Tell him you'll answer in one minute, thirty seconds." Possum Girl says quickly. "I got a thing."

"A thing?" You ask. "Explain what a thing is."

"It's a thing! Trust me, you'll like it."

From the way she's grinning, and Gorilla Ice is smirking, you probably will. You connect to the external speakers and the music, which was turned down a bit after the firefight ended, dies away.

"The music is not my usual fare." Gorilla Ice admits. "But, it is her operation, so I do not complain. Next time, we can operate under my standards."

You give him a questioning look but he doesn't say more.

"I will give you my answer in one minute, thirty seconds." Your distorted voice, amplified by the powerful speakers on the roof, actually manages to crack some glass nearby and, glancing out the windows, you see it has a few officers retching. Distorting your voice using the Tuned Disruptor was the right call.

Then, new music stats. A rapid techno keyboard sound, then, the base enters.

"What's this?" You ask Possum Girl.

" _Du Hast-_ by Rammstein." She says, "A German explosives expert turned me on to 'em."

Glancing back down the hall, you see Gorilla Ice limbering up. The music swells to the first crescendo. You don't speak German, you should learn, but after a minute twenty, Gorilla Ice readies himself to sprint. Five seconds later, he charges.

A glass pane is destroyed as Gorilla Ice leaps from the building with a great roar, a massive ice slide forming beneath him, reaching out from the building in a perfect arc towards Flamestrike's stupid, fire-painted truck. You hear a cut off "Oh fuck!" from the bullhorn, then a distorted squeal as Flamestrike drops it. The heavy chugging guitar the vocals kickoff exactly as Gorilla Ice smashes into the vehicle, destroying it with a blast of ice shards and telekinetic force. The fuel detonates, wreathing him and Flamestrike in fire as their battle begins. You can barely spot the young Shadow Blade shadow-teleport away from the fight, probably at Flamestrike's direction. You should get some optics into this helmet. Maybe passive sensors too, perhaps an augmented reality HUD. You squint and watch as Shadow Blade drops suddenly, probably hit by one of the snipers on the roof.

"Hit'em with a tranq, low dose, don't worry." A feminine voice says over the radio, preempting your question. "I want that bonus."

"Well done." You compliment the unidentified sniper, watching as the fight between Flamestrike and Gorilla Ice turns destructive, and moves away from the police line.

"I cannot believe you got Gorilla Ice." You say to Possum Girl.

She shrugs and looks slightly embarrassed, "I _may_ have made one or two promises of future, non-specific favors from you, in addition to the money."

"Now I can believe it." You reply icily, "Next time, ask me."

"Uh…your AI said you were busy…something about screaming into the void? Did you program that thing with humor?"

You're glad your expression doesn't show. "Something like that. Very well, nothing to be done about it now. I shall deal with Gorilla Ice if I have to, later."

"Well, if you need a hand paying him off, count me in. It's at least _partly_ my fault you owe him after all."

"Partly?" you ask, archly.

"I mean, do you regret him being here?"

You look out over the city towards the rising flames and ice blasts of the battle between Flamestrike and Gorilla Ice.

"I'm sure it will all be worth it. Let's come up with something else next time though. We can work together, I'll show you around my lab, see if we can work something out."

She cocks her head at you for a moment, considering, then smirks. "Sure. Sounds fun."

Yes!!!

Ok, time to settle down.

"The Scrubs will likely be here soon. What is our status?"

Possum Girl speaks into her radio on a channel you can't hear for a moment. "They're makin' good time. Ten minutes to load up, assuming you don't wanna risk any of the data by moving faster…?"

You consider this. You are not entirely sure how long you can keep the Scrubs tied up. However, you don't know how skilled Mind is at data reconstruction. You switch to their radio channel.

"Mind, how would you rate your skill at data reconstruction?"

"I have no experience and thus cannot say." Mind replies, "We should not assume I will be good at it right away. However, my data-mining has revealed a number of automatic systems within the building. If I gain greater access to the internal network, I may be able to assist you."

"Right." You turn to Possum Girl and take out your remaining data-mining modules. "Pass these out and plug them into important looking computers, building systems especially. My AI is going to help me buy the team more time. Treat the data gently."

"Oh~ environmental hazards? Shit yeah, I'm on it." She hurries off.

You make your way to the roof of the building. You spot a few of the mercs gathering up likely prototypes and downloading data with their own equipment. All preparing to evacuate before the Scrubs show up. From the roof you gaze out over the city. Skyscrapers jut into the sky, where the scions of visionary capitalists now prepare to take control of mighty corporations when their betters (and their predecessors really are far better people and industrial magnates than they could ever hope to be) retire. You've researched them. Paid private investigators and funded investigative journalists. It's been a little side project that trickles in data every other week. They do not yet fear you. That will not last. Eventually, this entire city will know your power, you'll make it _your_ city, and bend it to your will.

But first, these early steps must be dealt with. You need a reputation. And you need to understand who you are. Perhaps even now, those answers are being loaded onto rail carts on the subway beneath this very building. If not, they will be among the other corporations you plan on raiding and razing to the ground. They'll all suffer the same fate, of course, regardless of who holds your answers. To build a reputation of fear and awe, a few tall institutions must be rendered down for construction material.

"Scout 1 here." A voice crackles on your ear. "Activity at Scrapyard 2. Scrubs incoming. Estimate two minutes to arrival."

You take a deep breath as you feel adrenaline flood your system. She’s _coming to you_.

“We’ll be done in six.” A new voice announces over the com. “Some of these servers don’t have data on them yet. We’re leaving those.”

You turn to Possum Girl. “Who is that?”

“Merc by the name of Midnight. Does some vigilante work around town. She shoots lasers with her mind. Petawatt lasers, cuts through that armor-crete like pinking sheers along a silk bias line.”

“What...an interesting simile.”

Possum Girl shrugs. “I’ve got hobbies besides bombmaking. Sewing is a good skill for smuggling too.”

“I thought your hobby was terrorism.”

“Terrorism is my _job_ , Menace. I’m a professional. Well, professional apprentice.”

“I’d ask what that means but they’re here.”

The two of you stop your conversation as the three scrubs arrive. A flash of blue lighting ands with Blue shift standing on one corner of the building. Pulsar lands in the center, amber and violet light curling around her. Xenomech settles on the corner opposite Blue shift, her weapons are glowing, primed for battle.

**_“Greetings, Pulsar.”_** You click in your voice changer as you speak. The tuned disruptor adding subtle discordance to your voice, specially designed to irritate the inner ear canal. Interestingly, they don’t seem particularly affected. **_“Welcome to my hostile takeover. How can I help you?”_**

You only need to delay them for four minutes. Less if they believe everything of value is, perhaps, lost in an explosion?

“Let the hostages go, Menace.” Pulsar says flatly, “They’re not a serious threat anyway. I know you don’t like killing.”

You take the detonator out of your pouch and brandish it dramatically. **_“Too true, Pulsar. But the risk of death, perhaps that is different. How long would it take you to evacuate this building? Two minutes? Three?”_**

_“How about zero?”_ Blue Shift’s voice is disguised by pleasant, overlayed tones. Like a choir.

You barely have a moment to find that method interesting before there’s a streak of blue light that you see, more than feel, that deflects of the perimeter of your shield. You can feel the vibrations of the capacitors recharging as you watch Blue Shift skid across the roof for several meters before rolling to his feet. A successful test! You wonder how many times that will work.

**_“Heh heh hah hahh ahh hah hahhahhahhah~!”_** You laugh maniacally. **_“That’s not the way to penetrate my shield.”_** You flip the first switch and there’s a muffled **_FOOMPH_** as the building shifts ever so slightly. **_“One support down! Four to go! You have two minutes before the last detonates and the whole building comes down, Blue Shift. Disable the bombs, or grab the hostages. Your choice!”_** You crush the detonator in your armored hand. **_“Because there’s no stopping it! Not without the codes in my pockets.”_**

Blue Shift glances at Pulsar, who nods, and in a streak he’s gone.

"Which one do you want want, Possum Girl." You ask over the com.

"Not gonna lie, I wanna fight Pulsar again."

"Ok, on g- oh there she goes."

Before you can finish the sentence, she's charging Pulsar, shrieking. You catch an exclamation of "Aw fuck, not again." Before Possum Girl is slamming into her and they both go tumbling through the air.

You don't have time to watch because, without Pulsar around, Xenomech is opening fire.

You lunge aside, assisted by your thrusters, but your stomach lurches as gravity seems to temporarily shift when what you've identified as her gravity bomb lands next to you. You have the chance to say, fortunately to yourself, "Balls." As the force beam strikes you in the chest.

Thank the gods the beam is, apparently, magnetically constricted. The beam loses cohesion as it passes through your electrostatic shield. Instead of striking you like a brick to the chest, it feels more like getting hit by a soft, but heavy mattress across your whole body. You tumble through the air, right yourself, and fly up.

"You can't beat my tech, Menace." Xenomech taunts.

"I don't need to." You respond.

From below her, all the speakers on the roof pulse at once on command from the controls in your gloves. A blast wave of your Tuned Disruptor tech rolls over her and suddenly she tumbles, thrusters firing randomly. Unfortunately, the disruption to her system also causes her weapons to fire randomly. The plasma beam sweeps by you. The force beam blasts concrete off the neighboring building. Another gravity bomb lands in the street near the police barricades, dragging officers and cars towards it before it dissipates. And an EMP bomb is deflected off your shield and detonates nearby, and your shield blocks the effect. Sadly, it probably did kill the electronics in the building. So much for Mind's help.

You risk a glace at your detonator controls. They show no connection with the bombs. You wonder if Possum Girl used chemical or mechanical timers, instead of electronic ones.

And then there's no more time to wonder as Xenomech rights herself and comes for you.

It's a very long two minutes. Xenomech gets hit with the Tuned Disruptor twice more, each with more limited effects, using your personal sonic blaster built into your gauntlet. It's clear her tech is adapting to it. It's damaging the weapon as well, a flaw you will have to address later. You manage to avoid more gravity bombs pinning you in place for her to shoot you again. But the plasma beam does score one direct hit, tough dispersed by your shield, it does eat into the machine weave cloak and body armor. It's also _very_ warm.

Just as the countdown is about to finish, you spot a speck flying through the air. No, it's not a speck, it's Possum Girl, blasted back to the building by Pulsar. She hits hard, skids to the edge of the building, hitting the parapet, and springs to her feet. Her clothing is singed, she looks bruised and battered, but she's got a feral grin and looks ready for more. At nearly the same moment, Blue Shift reappears on the roof.

"I got everyone out and triple checked the building. The bombs are about to go. Or they should be."

"The EMP would have knocked out any electronics." Xenomech says.

"Hah! Stupid tech-heads." Possum Girl taunts. "I used chemical timers with electronic initiators. They _can't_ be stopped!"

**_ FOOMPH! FOOMPH! FOOMPH! FOOMPH! _ **

The building shudders…then starts to lean.

In a clearly practiced move, Blue Shift leaps from the building, only to be caught by Xenomech. You, less practiced, swoop down to Possum Girl. But instead of flying away, you crank your Tuned Disruptor to 200% power, and aim down.

"Sorry." You say to Possum Girl.

As she's asking "For what?" You fire.

The sonic vibrations, usually meant to dirupt organic equilibrium, can still do a lot of damage to other matter at well. Overcharged like this, it can turn solid steel to metallic dust. You hold the disruptor on as you dive through holes made of concrete and metallic dust. The electrostatic shield keeps the clouds away from you and Possum Girl as you dive through the collapsing building, the basement, and into the tunnels below, followed by a cloud of dust. You make a sharp lateral turn and stop just short of the other crew, led by Midnight, who are about to leave.

That's when Possum Girl vomits.

"Whunna…do?" She mumbles.

"Uhm…sorry again." You say, touching her shoulder, and delivering a strong tazer shock.

She screams, shoves you away, then looks around in amazement as she realizes she has control over her body once more.

"Oh…well…what the fuck was that?" She yells at you.

"I overcharged the Tuned Disruptor to cut us a getaway, but there was no way to shield you from the sound. The tazer can, kinda, purge the effect."

"Well…fucking ow, I still feel kinda sick, so you owe me." She replies, somewhat less angrily. "But, ok, apology accepted."

"I think you owe us too, Menace." Midnight points out.

"Of course." You switch to your com with Mind. "Mind, we're clear and it's time to pay the mercs."

"The money is already in their accounts." Mind says.

"It's done. If you don't mind, I'll take my prize now."

Midnight checks something on her phone. "Confirmed. Ok, everyone, let's scatter. Don't get grabbed by the pigs on your way out."

As they all leave, you approach the subway rail carts. This tunnel is abandoned, an old and unfinished project from when the city founders decided it was better to sell cars to everyone in the city, instead of providing efficient public transportation. Their loss, your gain, as this line runs right beneath one of the secondary lairs you've set up.

"Well, Mindy, wanna see my secret lair?"

Mindy smirks, "Sure."


End file.
